Thanksgiving at Ducky's
by Channel D
Summary: Ducky is having the NCIS group over for Thanksgiving dinner, just as he had done last year. Last year was chaos, what with Tony bringing a live turkey. Surely this year will be better? Humor/light adventure in 3 chapters.
1. Preparations

**Thanksgiving at Ducky's**

**by channelD**

_written for_: the NFA _NCIS Family Thanksgiving_ challenge

_rating_: K plus

_genre_: light/humor

_pairing_: slight McAbby

- - - - -

_disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS.

- - - - -

**Chapter 1: Preparations**

_The Friday before Thanksgiving, NCIS:_

"We're bringing the turkey," Tim said firmly. He gripped Abby's hand for support.

Ducky eyed them, and smiled. "Not a live one, like Tony did last year, Timothy." Life, he felt, was rarely dull around NCIS.

"Nope. Dead, plucked, frozen," said Abby, who _did_ know how to cook a turkey. "We'll drop it off at your place to start defrosting on Sunday evening, and then be by Thursday morning early to start it cooking."

Gibbs sat down with a fresh cup of coffee. "Want me to bring mashed potatoes again, Duck? I can do a pumpkin pie, too."

"Perfect, Jethro," said Ducky, making notes on his list. Thanksgiving preparations were coming together. There would also be appetizers, soup, a green salad, a fruit salad, Jell-o, two kinds of stuffing, a green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, corn, peas, yams, bread, a cherry pie, caramel-dipped apple slices, cider, and other drinks. _Wine_, he added to the list. Now to figure out which of his other guests was bringing what.

His mother no longer cooked, but the housekeeper would make what he asked her to, the day before. Ziva could be counted on to bring something sensible. Jimmy and Tony, he wasn't so sure about.

This year there would be one less face at the table—Jenny, sadly—and one new one: the new Director, who had decided not to take the weekend off and go to San Diego, opting instead for the entire week from Christmas to New Year's. That would give his wife and kids time with the in-laws now—time _he_ would avoid, he'd said. _What will Vance want to bring?_ Ducky thought. A terrible thought seized him. _Dear me, I hope I made it clear that this would be potluck. He will be embarrassed if he's the only one not bringing something._ Ducky couldn't deal with that today; he was too busy. But soon…

- - - - -

_Tuesday before Thanksgiving, NCIS:_

"What can I bring to the Thanksgiving dinner, Ducky?" asked Vance in a brief swing through Autopsy. "A good guest doesn't arrive empty-handed, after all."

Ducky smiled, gladdened. "Would you like to bring some bread, Director? Any kind would be fine."

"I can do that." Vance tapped a note to himself in his Blackberry. "What time should I be there?"

"Two o'clock for appetizers. The dinner will start at 4."

"Two it is. Thanks for having me!"

Ducky's face took on a kind look. "So many of our coworkers are single and have no family nearby. It seems only fitting that we get together for Thanksgiving. You're more than welcome."

"Did…I understand that you had Thanksgiving for the group at your house last year, as well. Did Jenny join you?"

"Yes. We started having Thanksgiving at her house, in fact, three years ago. At first it was just Jethro and myself, and then she expanded the group. She had her cook prepare the entire meal, and it was fabulous. But Ziva kept hinting that she wanted to add something to the meal, so last year we moved it to my place and made it a true potluck."

"Is it true DiNozzo brought a live turkey last year?" Vance laughed.

"Erm, yes," said Ducky, not really wanting to tell tales. At least, not without having everyone else there so they could all share a laugh. "Anyway, I'm glad you'll be there!"

- - - - -

_Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving:_

Ducky had scratched a few more things off his list. Ziva was bringing the fruit salad and the peas. Gibbs didn't have to eat peas if he didn't want to; there would be other vegetables. Jimmy had said he'd bring yams; Ducky silently prayed they'd be edible. Jimmy sometimes had grandiose notions about his cooking abilities. Jimmy would also bring the Jell-o mold; surely he couldn't mess that up. Abby had volunteered to do the green bean casserole, and Tim had said he'd bring the apples and the caramel dip.

Tony had been evasive. Finally Ducky had cornered him and gotten assurances from him about cranberry sauce and corn. Ducky would supply the rest. _Now we can have a relaxing feast…_

- - - - -

_Thanksgiving Day, 8 a.m._

"We're here!" Abby sang out as Ducky opened the door to her and Tim, over the chorus of barking corgis. "Lead us to that big, bad bird." They were dressed casually, but would change into nicer clothes before the other guests arrived.

"You know how to cook a turkey, too, Timothy?" Ducky asked in some wonder.

Tim nodded. "I love turkey. We always had it for both Thanksgiving and New Year's—it was either goose or ham at Christmas—and from an early age I would help my mom with it."

"By all means, have at it, then. It's thawing in the refrigerator in the garage."

"You can depend on us," Tim said. "No repeats of last year. This will just be a simple, quiet Thanksgiving."

"The kind I like. Family and friends, and lots of good food. That's Thanksgiving."

- - - - -

_9 a.m._

Abby sprinted into the living room, hopping over two corgis to do so. "Ducky! Ducky! You don't have the TV on?? Where's your mind??"

Ducky raised his eyebrows, and then made a shrewd guess. "If you want to turn on the Macy's parade, you have my permission, Abigail."

"Of course I want to see Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, Ducky! It's like a national obligation to watch it! In my house it was, anyway." She grinned. "Three hours of floats and bands and dancers and celebrities—and those wonderful balloons! All in windswept, usually cold, New York City—culminating in Santa Claus' arrival!"

"Did you ever believe that that was the real Santa Claus?"

"Only until I was seven or so. But I always wondered why he first appeared in New York, when clearly New Orleans was the superior city."

"Ah, yes. That sort of thing casts doubt in small minds. Good morning, Mother," he said, turning to greet the elderly Victoria Mallard, who had emerged from her bedroom. "Come into the dining room and I'll bring you breakfast."

"Breakfast? On Thanksgiving Day? I'd rather watch the parade on TV, Donald. But I'll take tea and toast if you care to bring that." She looked at Abigail with a small amount of curiosity, but didn't give voice to it.

With the widely-smiling, bundled-up announcers now grinning over the cool and sunny streets of Manhattan on the TV, Abby and Tim bustled about the living room, putting up the decorations they'd brought. There were strings of orange, red and yellow (artificial) leaves, small gourds, and bunches of Indian corn; the kernels dark red, blue, and practically every color. There was a pot of chrysanthemums—Abby would later clip one for a corsage for Ducky's mother. Tim stepped into the kitchen to start a big pot of cider mulling; it wasn't too early in the day for it, and more could be made later.

Ducky smiled happily, and started making stuffing. The day was going well.

And then the doorbell rang. Unexpectedly.


	2. Appetizers

**Chapter 2: Appetizers**

- - - - -

_1:30 p.m.: _

The doorbell rang again. Ducky, a bit frazzled, prayed that this new arrival would not be as trying as the last.

"I'll get it!"

"No, _I'll_ get it!!"

When the door opened, Gibbs, the arrival, was surprised to see two small, grinning, children on the other side. He looked at the house number to make sure he was at the right place.

"What did you bring?" demanded the boy, who looked to be about seven years old.

"Fish guts and egg shells," said Gibbs. "Where's Ducky?"

"Who's Ducky?" asked the girl, about five.

Ducky appeared then. "Oh, sorry, Jethro. Do come in."

"I'm early, Duck, I know. I thought you might need some help," said Gibbs, stepping inside.

Glowering at the children and shooing them inside as well, Ducky said, "You have no idea…"

"You keeping a secret life from me, Duck?" Gibbs said with a twinkle. He noticed Tim lounging on the couch, already into the wine. It was uncharacteristically early of him to be drinking. Something was up.

"_Corgis!!"_ The kids yelled, spotting two of the now-timid dogs, and running after them like rabid hunters.

"My neighbors' children," Ducky said. "Their mother went into labor this morning three days early, and her husband dropped them off with me before I could say 'no'."

"Ah, well, I'm sure all of us can manage them."

"You haven't met them," Ducky said darkly. "The boy is 'Scooter'. His little sister is 'Princess'. If they have any other names, I'm not aware of them. Anyway, you can take your mashed potatoes and pie into the kitchen. There should be room on the stove top to keep the potatoes warm."

"Uncle Timothy! Play me a game of checkers!"

"I've played 27 games with you already, Scooter," Tim moaned.

"Awww…Aunt Abby? Hey, that sound like 'Ann Tabby'! Can I call you 'Tabby'?"

"Not ever," said Abby, firmly. The kids had already managed to take apart half of Abby's Thanksgiving decorations, and had attempted to do so on the rest. The chrysanthemum had been dropped on the floor. The turkey had had unauthorized poking by small hands—several times. The cherry pie had been dug into. The caramel dip had started to be smeared on the kitchen table for some sort of stickiness contest before Tim rescued it. A bowl of whipped cream had eloped from the refrigerator, and dropped on the kitchen floor. It wasn't even 2, and Tim and Abby were exhausted.

The doorbell rang again. "Dear me…" said Ducky.

"I'll get it!"

"No, _I'll_ get it!!"

"Neither of you will get it," said Victoria Mallard, firmly, getting up from her easy chair. "It is time that you got dressed for dinner."

The children looked at her as if she had two heads. "What's wrong with what we've got on?" demanded Scooter. " 'Sides, we didn't bring any other clothes."

She looked critically at their jeans and long-sleeved t-shirts. "That won't do at all for Thanksgiving dinner. Come with me and I'll find you something."

"Mother?" Ducky asked, questioningly as Victoria led the children away, but turned back as the doorbell rang again.

"Hello, Ducky! Happy Thanksgiving," said Ziva, beaming, and bearing food.

"Come in, come in, dear," said Ducky, feeling a little more confident. Ziva could handle anything. He held the door open as he saw Vance coming up the walk.

"Hi, everyone!" said Vance, cheerfully. He was neatly dressed in a suit, and seeing him got Tim and Abby to leave their wine glasses and go off to get changed into nicer clothes.

Ziva set the food she'd brought on the kitchen table, amidst the bounty of all the other dishes. "It is as Abby said last year: 'We're gonna starve'," she smiled.

"Indeed," Ducky chuckled. "What will we do if we run out?

Vance, Gibbs, Ziva and Ducky settled down with wine and hors d'oeuvres. When Tim and Abby returned, now neat in a suit and a dress, Vance pounced on the question that had been in his mind for days.

"So…before DiNozzo gets here…tell me about last year and this live turkey he brought!"

Abby grinned. "It was a big, white, standard turkey in a cage. Fresh from some local turkey farm."

"That was the problem," Tim put in. "Tony had volunteered to bring the main course, and Ducky said, 'Bring a turkey, but make sure it's fresh.'"

"So Tony figured you didn't get fresher than 'live'!" Abby chortled.

"He honestly thought that most people did their own butchering of turkeys for Thanksgiving. If they wanted really fresh turkeys."

"So, since even Ziva didn't want to play turkey assassin, we had no meat."

"We found an Indian restaurant that was open—_Star of India_—and got several meat dishes from there. No turkey, but some tandoori chicken, and whatnot."

Vance guffawed. "So what happened to the turkey?"

"DiNozzo took it back to the turkey farm," said Gibbs. "Claims it was a gag all along, but I don't know. At least he paid for all the Indian food."

"As well he should do," Ducky grumbled.

"Here we are. All nicely turned out for a formal dinner!" Victoria sang, ushering the children back in.

"Oh, my…" said Abby.

"Mother! I thought you said you'd thrown those clothes out!" Ducky snapped.

Young Scooter was dressed in knickerbockers; old-fashioned knee-length pants, a blousy shirt, and knee-high socks. Princess wore one of Ducky's younger childhood sailor suits. Both children scowled. "This is the best I could do for the girl," Victoria frowned, as if it was Princess' fault for being a girl. "Now you two are to keep clean until dinner is served."

"Then we can get dirty? At dinner?" Princess asked hopefully. At Victoria's glare she retreated. She and her brother spotted a corgi that had come out of hiding, and charged after it.

"Can I get anyone cider?" asked Ducky, fearing there might not be enough wine to make it through the day.

The doorbell rang again. This time Ducky made it to the door first, glaring at the children from a distance. "Mr. Palmer! Welcome!" It was odd how surprisingly normal his presence seemed, all of a sudden.

"Thank you, Doctor," Jimmy said with a smile, stepping inside. He promptly headed for the kitchen with the food he'd brought. "I tried something different with the yams…I like to experiment when I cook!"

_No wonder you're thin as a rail, _Ducky thought. "I, ah, look forward to trying them, Jimmy."

Jimmy strode into the living room, glass of ice water in hand. "I also experimented with the Jell-O mold," he announced. "I looked around at all kinds of molds, searching for just the right one."

_Good heavens. He surely doesn't think that a Jell-O mold means real…?_

"You have no idea how many kinds of molds there are. All lengths and dimensions; all colors; all sizes. I finally decided on one that was a nice greenish hew, with feathery outlines—" He stopped in surprise as Tim, Ziva and Vance suddenly got up and ran out, gagging. "Something wrong?" Jimmy asked nervously.

"No, I'm sure everything's, ah, fine, lad," said Ducky, trying to think past the Jell-O mold. "Why don't I give you a hand at turning it out? I've done this many a time." _The dinners at Jenny's were never like this._

Steering Jimmy back to the kitchen, Ducky blinked on seeing the light-green metallic mold bowl in the refrigerator. _Hmmm…_ Ducky showed Jimmy how to dip the mold in warm water to loosen the Jell-O. They then inverted the mold onto a chilled plate, and a pretty orange Jell-O emerged, with feathery impressions and fruit floating in it.

"Well done, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said, sighing with relief.

- - - - -

_3 p.m.:_

They were all present except for Tony. "Well, he came late last year, too," said Abby. "Around 3:30, as I remember."

"Not 'late', exactly," said Gibbs, eying the growing pile of books from Ducky's library that the kids were making on the floor. "He missed most of the appetizer portion, that's all."

"And expected us to cook a live turkey in ½ hour," Abby laughed.

"That is why I am convinced that it really was a gag," Ziva said, coming to Tony's defense. "He could not possibly think that a turkey could be cooked in ½ hour."

Scooter grinned up at Ziva. "You talk funny," he said.

"Your name is funny," she countered. This sent him scowling back to the books.

"Ziva, how long does it take to cook a TV dinner in the oven?" Tim queried.

"Ah…about 35 minutes, does it not?...Oh, I see…Nonetheless…"

- - - - -

_3:30 p.m.:_

At last worn out, Scooter and Princess were napping on a loveseat. Ducky suspected, however, that they might be faking it. Abby had already extended a benevolent hand to Princess, only to be clawed, and have Princess drift off to 'sleep' again, giggling.

The doorbell rang, but the children didn't stir. That was a sure sign. "I have handcuffs," whispered Ziva.

"No," Gibbs said.

"Ah, Anthony! At la—" Ducky's voice trailed off.

"Hi, Duck! I was worried that we might run short on meat, so I brought a little something extra," Tony said cheerfully. His words were partially masked by restless oinks, and the little pig in his arms wiggled.

The others rushed to the door. "Oh, no, Tony! You didn't!" cried Abby.

"How long does it take to cook pork? I don't have any recipes, but I figured one of you chefs would know…"

"A pig! It's a pig!" cried the children, now up. "Give me the pig!" "No, give _me!!"_

"DiNozzo!!" Gibbs snapped.

"What, you want the pig, boss? Oh, don't look at me that way. Bringing a pig to a Thanksgiving dinner is not a fire-able offense. I checked."

Gibbs looked at Vance, who said, "I may double check that, DiNozzo."

Tony winced. "Look; one of you take it, okay? I've got to get the rest of the food I brought out of my car." He started to thrust the piglet into a waiting set of arms, saw the arms belonged to a child, and thrust the pig instead on Tim.

"Tony!!" Tim squawked, and quickly handed the pig to Gibbs—who passed it on to Ziva—who passed it on to Vance—who passed it on to Jimmy—who eyed it a little too hungrily, and so had it taken by Abby. Abby tried to settle down on the couch with it, only to have the pig squirm out of her arms and bolt, chased by the two kids.

"Find it!" Ducky cried. "I don't want a pig loose in this house!"

"Dear me, Donald; was that a rat I saw?" asked Victoria.

"No, Mother. Just a pig."

"Are we having pork, then, for dinner?"

"Got a recipe, Mrs. Mallard?" asked Tony, coming in with the cranberry sauce and corn niblets.

"Well, let me think, Anthony. There's one for pork chops that Donald always liked. Take a cup of catsup, a cup of cola—yes, _cola_!—some brown sugar—"

"Later, Mother. We're not having pork today!"

"Then why is there a pig in the house, Donald?"

"_All of you!"_ Ducky raged. "Go get that pig!!_ Go!!"_ His guests got up and started moving through the first floor of the house.

"Yeah!" Tony called after them with a grin. "We might starve without our pork dish!"

Gibbs grabbed him roughly by the arm. "At least for your little gag last year, you brought the turkey in a cage, DiNozzo!"

"Who says it's a gag?" Tony said with a weak smile. Under Gibbs harsh glare, he backed down. "Okay; I didn't bring a cage because the farmer I got it from wanted a $100 deposit for a cage."

"_Princess!!!"_ came a young yell.

"Oooops…"

The adults ran toward the sound, at the back door of the house. "That's one smart pig you have, Mister," Princess grinned. "He figured out how to use the doggy door!"

"You helped him!" Scooter accused.

And Ducky's property backed up on woodland. With Tony pushing his way into the lead, the adults poured out the door. "I put down a $300 deposit on that pig!" Tony yelled. _"Find it!!"_

"You kids stay inside!" Gibbs ordered in a tone that could not be disobeyed.

In the living room, Victoria petted a trembling corgi that had come out of hiding. "There, there Tyson. It will all be over in a few hours. Would you like some pork with your dinner, hmm?"


	3. The Main Course & Dessert

**Chapter 3: The Main Course & Dessert**

- - - - -

On this mild late November afternoon, the weather wasn't a factor in the adults' outdoor scramble to find Tony's rented piglet. The dressy clothes for the Thanksgiving dinner, however, were. Ziva and Abby, both in high heels and tight dresses, moved a lot more slowly (and unsteadily) over the uneven ground than the men did.

For their part, some of the men were concerned about the effect of the woodsy dirt on their dress shoes. _My first Italian leather shoes,_ Tim thought bleakly. _Tony's probably on his tenth pair. He doesn't look happy, either._

"Find that pig!" Tony thundered. "McFarmlandboy! How do you call a pig?"

"Uh…you mean, 'soo-ie'?" Tim offered weakly, not liking the implied insult.

"Yes, but put some backbone in it."

Rolling his eyes, Tim stopped and cupped his hands to his mouth. "Soooooooooo-EEE! Soo-ie, Soo-ie, Soo-ie! Here, pig, pig, pig!"

"Does that really work?" asked Ziva.

"I don't know how old pigs have to be to attend pig-calling school," said Tim wryly.

"I see it!" cried Jimmy, and he ran off into the woods, the others following. With several not entirely graceful leaps over fallen logs, Jimmy then made a running dive and slid headfirst on a trail of fallen leaves…coming up with the squawking piglet in both hands. His friends applauded.

- - - - -

Meanwhile, back in the house, the adorable children Scooter and Princess were once again admiring the turkey. In the rush to follow the runaway pig, Abby had stopped long enough to take the turkey out of the oven to baste it. Urged to _come on_ by Tim, she had set the turkey in its roasting pan on the table, certain that they'd all be back in the house within minutes. What were NCIS agents if not adept at catching their quarries?

"Yes sir; that's a big 'un," said Scooter, mimicking his dad as he gazed longingly at the delectable turkey.

"A big 'un," Princess agreed.

"I want a drumstick. _Both_ drumsticks!"

"I want _ten_ drumsticks!"

"Princess, there are only two drumsticks," Scooter smirked.

"You're hogging the other drumsticks!" she wailed.

Scooter looked around, worriedly. He knew that few adults could resist the sound of his little sister's sobbing. "Quiet, Princess! Tell you what—I'll see that you get the neck! That's the bestest piece of turkey there is!"

"It is?" she said, eyes wide and tears ending.

"You bet it is! And it'll be all yours!"

"_Yay!!!"_ Bouncing up and down, she just managed to step aside as the grown-ups came pouring back in. "Doctor Mallard, Scooter says I can have the—"

Scooter clamped a hand over her mouth, and only grinned at the adults, who were beyond being interested in the children. "Quiet," he hissed to Princess after the others had gone through and out of the room. "Everyone's going to want the neck. Don't give them ideas!"

"Can I see it now?"

Back in the living room, the adults were settling back down with great sighs. Jimmy hung up his grass-stained, muddy suit coat on the coat rack, biting back comments. He had to pinch pennies, as a student and part-time worker, and lamented the cost of the dry cleaning that the coat (and probably the pants) was headed for. Ducky found a dog carrier, and the piglet was stuffed into it. "Take it out to your car, DiNozzo," Gibbs directed.

"When I've caught my breath, boss," Tony said, eyes closed.

A piercing scream came from the kitchen.

"Do we have to?" asked Abby, sprawled in an easy chair.

The screams continued. "I'm not sure," said Vance.

"Oh, all of you!" Ziva scolded, getting up. Slowly. The others did likewise.

"Princess, _stop!"_ they heard Scooter cry. "I can fix it!" Small footsteps pounded.

That statement got the adults going, for whatever _it_ was, they doubted that Scooter could do it.

In the kitchen, they found Princess running around wildly, blindly almost…with the turkey on her head. Literally. Her own small head was inside the turkey's opening; the bird enveloping her all the way down to her neck.

It took three of them to surround her and grab her. Gibbs lifted her into the air, her legs kicking. "Stop struggling!" he scolded. "We'll get you out of there."

"It would be easier to wait until she passes out from lack of air," Ducky observed.

"Ducky!" Tim cried.

"I'm sorry; did I say that out loud?" Ducky said. "All right. Tony, see if you can yank the turkey off her."

Tony tried, gently, over Princess' continuing screams, but it was no use. "We're going to have to cut it off, Ducky."

"You can't cut my sister's head off! I won't let you!!" Scooter cried, giving Tony a sharp kick in the knee.

"That's not what I meant, kid!" Tony yelped.

Vance found a large knife. "I'm used to carving turkeys. I'll do it." While Gibbs and Tony held the squirming girl as still as possible, Vance made a few expert cuts, and quickly the turkey was lifted off Princess' head, juices running down her.

"You are filthy!" Victoria snapped at the girl. "Into the bathtub with you, this instant!" She led the now-wailing-again girl away.

"Will it still be fit to eat, Duck?" Gibbs asked, eyeing the turkey.

"I think so," Ducky said, wondering what he had done in a past life to deserve this. "As long as we don't eat anything from the inside."

"I can carve it carefully," said Vance.

"It still needs to cook about ½ hour more," said Tim.

With the bird back in the oven, the adults once again retreated to the living room. The wine was running low, so Ducky opened up the liquor cabinet. Abby replenished the appetizers. By the time that Victoria returned with a now-clean Princess (dressed in an ancient Wolf Cubs (scout) uniform), Tim, Ziva, and Ducky were bringing food to the dining room table. It was time for dinner.

"DiNozzo, did you ever take the pig out to your car?" Gibbs asked as they headed for the table.

"Ah, no. I'll do that now." A moment later he came back in the dining room. "Did you move the dog carrier, boss? I can't find it."

"Nope. Someone must've. Look for it later." Gibbs eyed Scooter. "Do you know anything about this, Scooter?"

"Who, me??"

They all sat down at the table; all eleven of them. "Let us join hands," said Ducky. "Jethro, I think you are doing the prayer this year?"

As everyone bowed their head, Gibbs began, "Dear Lord…"

And then with a _squoink_, the large bread basket in the center of the table tipped over and the piglet jumped out of it, a piece of bread in its mouth. The pig ran down the table, hopping through some dishes and bowls, knocking them over, while the adults shrieked and the children cheered. It was Ziva's turn to make a flying leap to catch the pig, and she did, skittering along the tablecloth…only to have that leaf of the old, old table groan and then collapse. The nearby dishes and bowls slid down onto Ziva; the ones at the other end went flying and landed on everyone. The turkey landed on Ducky's lap…briefly…before sliding to the floor and being pounced on by the corgis.

"I don't remember last year being this bad," said Jimmy. "Uh, no offense, Doctor."

"At least the desserts are safe," said Victoria. She cocked her head. "Are the desserts supposed to make noises?"

"Noises, Mother?" Ducky said, then "Oh, no…!" He ran for the kitchen, followed by the others.

The back door had been left open, by accident. In the kitchen were two large, wild turkeys and a Canada goose, all making short work of the pies and the cake on the countertop.

"Dinner!" cried Tim, leaping forward. "I think I know how to wring a turkey's neck. It'll be late, but we'll still have a Thanksgiving dinner, by gum!"

"Stop, Probie!" Tony cried, grabbing wild-eyed Tim. "We're all hungry, but this isn't the answer!"

"_I! Want! Meat!"_ Tim yelled.

"Unfortunately, these wild birds are protected species," Ducky lamented as Jimmy and Abby chased the birds back outdoors with brooms.

"Our Thanksgiving. Ruined," Ziva sighed, as she handed the pig back to Tony.

"Not entirely," said Tony. "I still have the phone number to _Star of India_. What do we want? A large selection of tandoori dishes?"

- - - - -

The Indian food order arrived around the time that everyone had finished rinsing the food off their clothes and cleaning up the kitchen and dining room. "Bring your clothes into NCIS tomorrow," said Vance. "I'll drop them all off at my dry cleaners. It'll be on me."

The others murmured their thanks as the phone rang. Ducky answered it, listened for a moment, and then announced, "It's a girl. You have a little sister, children." He listened again, and then relayed, "Her name is going to be 'Thanksgiving'. This is so she will always remember her birthday."

"That's ridiculous!" said Abby. "Thanksgiving isn't on a fixed day."

But Ducky only shook his head. Into the phone he said, "Can we keep the children longer? Oh, my, no; that's a bad idea. We're all dreadfully sick here. Except the children. Vomiting everywhere. You'd better come get them quickly. They'll be on the porch."

"We don't get anything to eat?!" Scooter raged. "I'm hungry!"

Tony pulled out a small amount of pork from the Indian order and wrapped it in foil. "This is the pig's big brother. Enjoy."

"You're bluffing," Scooter said, but he looked doubtful. He and Princess were shooed out to the front porch, and the door closed firmly behind them.

The adults crowded around two card tables to eat the Indian food. "Dear Lord," Gibbs began again, "We give thanks today for the presence of our friends and this meal. Without our friends, we could not possibly cope. Amen."

"Amen," the others chorused.

Abby was moved. "Should we let the kids back in?" She didn't really want to; she was relaxed and comfortable with Tim's arms around her.

"_NO!"_ was the roar of the other eight voices.

-END-


End file.
